


The Lost Reel

by CrystalNinjaPhoenix



Series: Crystal's Septic Fic Universe [7]
Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystalNinjaPhoenix/pseuds/CrystalNinjaPhoenix
Summary: While helping his daughter with a project, Chase meets an old lady with an interesting past. She recalls the story of the day her best friend disappeared, and it sounds strangely familiar...
Series: Crystal's Septic Fic Universe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842199
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Lost Reel

Chase was pretty sure that making a seven-year-old do a community service for a grade was not a good teaching practice, but when Bobby came up to him and begged him to come with her for this project, he wasn’t about to say no. So he found himself driving a rental car through the east side of the city to an address Bobby had given him. Apparently she’d volunteered to help an old lady clean out her house—though maybe “volunteered” wasn’t the right word, as it had been the last project available that “wasn’t boring,” according to Bobby. Now, the two of them were standing on the doorstep of a tall, narrow house, Bobby holding his hand while he rang the doorbell.

“You okay, Bobby-girl?” he asked her. “You’re squeezing pretty tight, there.”

“I’m okay,” Bobby said. “I just don’t want her to be one of the mean old people.”

“Well, if she is, we won’t be here for long.”

A thin, wavering voice came from inside: “The door is unlocked, come in!” Chase looked down and gave Bobby an encouraging smile, then pulled the door open.

All the houses on the east side of the city were built the same. Upon opening the front door, there was a hallway with a narrow staircase leading up to a second floor. A door to the left led to a parlor, while two doors to the right led to the kitchen and dining room. Chase had been in a house like this many times before, he knew what it was built like. So when the voice said, “I’m in the parlor, dears,” he led Bobby to the left. She edged her way inside the room.

The parlor was decorated in a style that was decades old, with an old-fashioned sofa and matching chairs, paintings on the walls, and tables with doilies on them. An old lady was sitting in an armchair in the corner, with a teapot and four teacups on the table next to her. She was dressed in a simple yellow dress and white cardigan, and her curling silver-white hair was cut to chin-length. Her brown eyes peered out from their place in between wrinkles, and she smiled warmly at Bobby. “You must be the student from the local primary school,” she said sweetly. “My, you’re awfully young, aren’t you? But I’m sure they wouldn’t have sent you if you weren’t up for the task.”

Bobby puffed up at the compliment. “Yeah, I’m up for it! I’m Bobby, and this…” she tugged on Chase’s hand. “…is my dad. Are you Ms. Honey?”

“Oh, just call me Cherry, dear. All my friends did, back in the day.” She glanced up at Chase. “It was a bit of a joke between us, picturing cherry honey. Can you imagine what it would taste like?” She laughed. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Oh. Um, I’m Chase. It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am!”

“Chase? What a lovely name for a lovely man.” Ms. Honey gestured to the teapot. “As you can see, I’ve just made tea. Would either of you like some?”

“No, thank you,” Bobby said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I think we’d better get started. Thanks for the offer.” Chase cleared his throat. “So, Bobby told me you needed help cleaning out your house?”

“Oh, yes. There’s a large storage room underneath the stairs that’s full of all sorts of clutter. I rented one of those Stor-It places at the edge of town and have people who volunteered to take the clutter there, but I would like to move everything out to the street for them. If you find anything interesting, feel free to show me. I’d love to talk about it.”

The door under the stairs opened with a creak and a puff of dust. Chase coughed, then reached inside and pulled on the dangling string that would turn on the room’s single light bulb. “Man, she wasn’t kidding about the clutter,” he muttered. The room was packed full of boxes, chests, old knickknacks, and piles of loose clothing. “Well Bobby-girl, where do you wanna start? Think you can lift up that trophy by yourself?”

Bobby didn’t answer. She was too busy staring at a framed poster on the wall. “Dad, is that Ms. Honey?” she pointed toward it.

The poster was one of those old movie ones, back before photographs were a thing and they just painted the actors. It looked pretty old. The woman taking up most of the poster had long strawberry blonde curls, and her brown eyes were staring off into the distance. Despite the heavy makeup and lack of wrinkles, there was no mistaking Ms. Honey.

“I think it is.” Chase leaned closer. “Yeah, see, there’s her name: Cheryl Honey. That must be what Cherry is short for. Huh. The date on this thing is 1934.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. “Ms. Honey is really old!”

Chase laughed. “Yes, she is, but don’t say that to her. Some grown-ups get upset when you call them old. Now, we should probably get going. Your mom wants you home before five.”

Bobby nodded seriously. She reached over and picked up the trophy Chase had mentioned earlier. “Dad. I did it.”

“You did! Wow, that’s amazing!” Bobby giggled at that.

It took them a couple hours to move everything out to the street. Bobby took care of the multitude of smaller objects, while Chase moved the heavy boxes. He made a game out of it for her: see how many objects you could stack before it started to tip. Then, take down the stack and make new stacks out of those. Bobby seemed to enjoy the challenge of it. Soon, there was only one chest left in the storage room, tucked away in the corner, its wooden corners battered. Chase picked it up, expecting it to be as heavy as the others, but was surprised when the chest lifted easily into the air. He could also hear a single object sliding around inside.

“What’s in this?” he said. “Bobby, what do you think?”

Bobby looked at the chest seriously. “It’s clothing-sized.”

“But there’s no clothing inside. That would be soft, and we wouldn’t hear this.” He tilted the chest, and something hit the wooden side.

“Let’s open it!” Bobby said, suddenly excited. “Like pirates!”

“Ha, alright, Bobby-girl.” Chase set the chest back on the ground, unlatching the clasps. The hinges squeaked when he opened the lid. Sitting on the bottom of the box was a roll of old-fashioned film. The end of which had been, or at least looked like it had been, burned. “Wonder what that is.” Chase carefully picked it up, holding the film up to the light. He could see the vague shape of a man sitting at a table, but it was hard to tell in the dim illumination from the room’s single light bulb. “Should we go ask Ms. Honey, you think? She did tell us to bring her anything interesting.”

“Do you think she’s gonna tell us an old-person story?” Bobby asked, making a face.

“Maybe. But don’t knock old-person stories, you can learn valuable things from it.” Chase picked up the chest again, setting the film on top. “C’mon, let’s go ask her.”

Ms. Honey was in the exact same chair in the parlor, having finished her tea and now reading a book with glasses perched on her nose. She looked up when the father and daughter reentered the room, her eyes glimmering. “Have you two finished already?” she asked.

“Yes, we have, actually. There’s just one thing.” Chase put the chest on the floor and held up the film reel. “We were wondering what this is.”

Ms. Honey’s face fell. “Oh dear. I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“If you don’t want to tell us, you don’t have to,” Chase hurried to say.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant.” Ms. Honey marked the place in her book and set it on the table. “It might be good for me to finally get it off my chest. But it’s not a story for young children.”

“I can take it!” Bobby lifted herself up onto the sofa and sat there, legs swinging. “I know a lot of grown-up stuff. Dad let me watch a 12A movie with him and didn’t tell Mom.”

“And we’re still not gonna tell Mom about that,” Chase said, sitting down next to her with the film reel on his lap.

Ms. Honey sighed. “Alright, I can see there’s gonna be no stopping you. But young Chase, I’m going to ask you to cover your daughter’s ears at one point.” When Chase nodded in agreement, she continued. “Now, where to start? I suppose some background would be helpful. You see, long ago, I was rather famous in the motion pictures.”

“You _were_ a movie star!” Bobby gasped. “We saw your poster!”

Ms. Honey smiled. “Yes, I started in the movies before there was sound. Eventually the talkies came and I moved on to those, but the silent films will always be dear to me.” She settled back in her seat. “I was a great comedic talent back in those days. And I had a partner. He was a sweet man, always kind and willing to make others laugh. You kind of remind me of him. But one day…well, he wanted to try a new sort of gimmick for a film. A short sort of skit, if you will. He convinced the studio head to lend him one of their cameras for it. I helped him in some spots, but I had another appointment that night, and left him to finish it on his own. The next day, however…”

* * *

Mr. Merrick, the studio head, had never been a patient man. Forgiving? Maybe. Nice? Usually. But patient? Never. So when filming was delayed due to one of his stars not showing up, the star that had taken one of his cameras the previous night with a promise to return it in the morning, he began to get a little hot under the collar.

“I’ve given that man two hours now, if he won’t show up soon enough I’m going to recast him altogether!” Merrick blustered, storming about the set.

“That would be fairly inconsistent, wouldn’t it?” pointed out one of the camera men. “We’ve already filmed scenes with him.”

“Inconsistencies be damned, we’re on a deadline here!” Merrick hollered.

“Now, come, Mr. Merrick,” Cherry stood up from the chair where she’d been sitting on set and walked over to the agitated studio head. “You know James wouldn’t be late if he didn’t have a good reason. Maybe a family emergency came up.”

“I tried calling his home, you know,” Merrick said. “If he was on his way here, he wouldn’t have picked up! But no, the other line was picked up, alright. Whoever it was didn’t say anything, and then the line went dead! He must have heard me, and hung up on me!” He shook his head in disappointment.

“Well, of course _he_ wouldn’t say anything,” Cherry drawled. “Use your common sense Merrick.”

Merrick stalled in his pacing. “Of course. Of course,” he sighed. “I suppose I forgot about the obvious problem in my rush. Why does he even have that line, then?”

“He told me it was so people could call him and update him on situations,” Cherry explained. “For emergencies. And also, it came with the house.”

“Miss Honey, ma’am?” Cherry spun around to see that boy was standing behind her. Or, not boy, since he’d turned sixteen two months ago. “D’you t’ink somethin’ mighta happened to him?”

“You mean, something dangerous, Flynn?” Cherry frowned. “No, I don’t. James would never get mixed up in anything like that.”

“But accidents happen, Miss Honey.”

“The boy’s right,” Merrick interrupted. “If you wouldn’t mind going to check on him? I know he’d open the door for you.”

Cherry frowned. “Fine. I still think you’re just bulling the situation, but if you insist, I’ll go check real quick. It’s not too far a walk from here.”

“Miss Honey?” Flynn piped up. “D’you mind if I come wit’ you? In case t’ere _has_ been somethin’ up? You need someone to protect you.”

Cherry laughed. It was true, the young lad had proven himself handy in a fight, seeing how often he’d come out on top from the ones he started. “All right, Flynn, but I swear to you, it’s fine. I saw him just last night. I’m sure something has just got in the way.”

Of course Cherry knew where her partner’s house was. It was in the same part of town as hers, the western side, where all the nice townhouses were. It really didn’t take too long to walk from the studio near the city center. Only forty-five minutes later, and Cherry was insistently ringing the doorbell of his house while Flynn was bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes darting up and down the street looking for trouble.

“He’s usually more prompt in answering the door,” Cherry muttered, ringing once again. Another thirty seconds passed, and she rang again. Eventually she resorted to leaning on the doorbell, before finally taking her hand off and banging on the door. “James! I know you’re in there, there’s nowhere else you can possibly be! If you don’t open soon, I’m going to come inside and see what the fuss is!”

“Doesn’ he lock his door, ma’am?” Flynn asked.

“Not usually,” Cherry answered. “He has been making more of a habit of it lately, though…” Now worried, Cherry frowned at the doorknob. She reached out and twisted it, and the door swung outward easily enough. “Alright, guess we’re seeing what the fuss is. Come along, Flynn.”

The first thing Cherry noticed was that all the lights were on. The second thing was that the strange decorations James had set up had fallen to the floor. They were ripped up dreadfully, torn apart as if someone had spitefully thrown them into a bed of knives. She’d asked him what they were for at one point, and he’d merely replied protection. He was sort of superstitious, apparently. “James? Are you in here?” she called. Of course, there would be no answer.

“Isn’ that kinda pointless, Miss Honey?” Flynn asked, carefully stepping into the house. “’S not like Mr. Jackson can answer.”

“No, you’re right,” Cherry sighed. “Instincts kicked in. We’d better search about with our eyes, then.”

They checked the parlor, the kitchen, the dining room, and even the spare room in the back and the storage under the stairs. Nothing. “Ma’am, you said you were wit’ him las’ night,” Flynn said after their final failed search of a room. “Where was he? D’you t’ink we should’ve checked there first?”

“He was upstairs,” Cherry said, chewing her nail as she thought. “It was for the idea he had, about the seasonal short film. We were filming up there. I helped him set up the camera, and helped with some of the moments, but then I had to meet Harvey Kelsie at the dance hall and he told me he could finish on his own. He wouldn’t…still be in that room, would he?”

Flynn shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s jus’ havin’ a bit of a lie-in. Wasn’ yesterday his birthday? Bit of celebration.”

Cherry rolled her eyes. “Not everyone celebrates the way you people do.”

“Well, then, ev’ryone is boring!”

Cherry let out a breath of a laugh. “Alright, we’ll check upstairs. Starting with that room.”

The room in question was the first one on the right. The door was shut closed. Cherry turned the knob and eased it open, peering inside. “James? Are you—” she stopped. There were no words. She could only gape at the scene.

“Miss Honey? Ma’am? I canna see.” Flynn pulled the door more open, enough to poke his head through. Then he, too, stopped. “Holy jesus,” he muttered.

The two of them entered the room at the same time, slowly. On the surface level, it looked the same as it had when Cherry had been there last night. A table against one wall, two chairs that had been pushed against the other. There was the studio’s camera on a tripod in the middle of the room, pointing at the table. There were some candles and a pumpkin on the table too, very seasonal.

But what had changed was that there hadn’t been blood before.

A knife was stuck deep in the pumpkin, and there seemed to be chunks missing, like the pumpkin had been viciously attacked. Dribbling down the side of the pumpkin, across the table, and onto the floor was a puddle of congealing, drying red. Upon seeing it, Cherry just knew that James wasn’t in the house. “We’ve got to call emergency,” she said, backing away.

Flynn, to the contrary, took a few steps forward. “You t’ink the camera caught what happened on the film?”

“What? I don’t know, maybe? But I don’t think it’s important right now.”

Flynn spun around to glare at her a fierce light in his eyes. “Look, if someone bumped off Mr. Jackson, then the film can help us see who ‘t was, right? That wou’ be helpful when the coppers arrive.” He spun back around and walked toward the camera. Cherry watched, wide-eyed, as he fiddled with the reels on top. “…now this is strange,” he muttered. He pulled on the film, showing how it had been melted, burned, straight through the middle. The ends were still emitting smoke. “What coulda done this?”

“Flynn, this is giving me the heebie-jeebies,” Cherry said, her voice wavering a bit. “I’m going down to the first floor’s phone room and calling emergency. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

“Alright, alright, fine ma’am.” Flynn dropped the burnt edges of the film, following Cherry back out of the room and down the stairs.

The police arrived soon after. Both Cherry and Flynn were questioned extensively as to what happened, but were deemed not suspicious in the end. The police then started searching the nearby area, either for James, or for a body. Cherry walked back to the studio and told Mr. Merrick what had happened. Then she went home. The filming they’d had planned that day was cancelled anyway.

The next few weeks seemed to pass in an anxious blur. Waiting for some news. Not getting any. The studio hurriedly recasting the role, only for Cherry herself to resign from the picture. She couldn’t believe her partner was actually gone. Maybe he was in trouble, but he wasn’t…he couldn’t be. But what sort of trouble would he even be in? James was a sweet person, always kind and considerate. Who would want to…?

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized something had been…off these last few months. James had been jumpy, always telling her he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Paranoid. He would get random nosebleeds that would affect the filming schedule. He’d disappear in the middle of the day. And there was one time, just last week, when he…smiled at her. Not in the normal, gentle way he normally did, but…like a twisted, distorted, too-wide way. Maybe he really was in trouble, and the stress was getting to him. Or maybe he’d just gone mad.

It wasn’t until a month after the discovery of the crime scene that Cherry got any sort of clue as to what happened to him. She was back at the studio, auditioning for a new role, when she ran into Flynn again. Or rather, Flynn found her. He cornered her in the hallway to her dressing room and said, “There’s somethin’ I need t’ show you.”

Cherry sighed. “Flynn, I don’t really want to do this right now. I just want to go home.”

“No, no, Miss Honey—Cherry, ma’am, this is abou’ Mr. Jackson,” Flynn said in a rush.

“Really? I asked the police to contact me with any leads they had.”

“Well, they don’…exactly know abou’ this.” Flynn stared down the hall, making sure that nobody was listening, then looked back at Cherry. “So, y’remember that burnt-up film from that day?”

“Of course.”

“I…may have taken it.”

“Wh—” Cherry gaped at him. “You stole evidence from the police?!”

“‘T wasn’ evidence at the time! They weren’ even in the room yet! I jus’…took it. Somethin’ told me I was s’posed to.”

“Shawn Flynn!” Cherry reprimanded. “That could have been very helpful in their investigation! You basically took a clue from them!”

“Well, consid’ring they ruled it a suicide two days ago an’ closed the case, I doubt this woulda done much,” Flynn said dryly. “I jus’…wanted somethin’ to r’member Mr. Jackson wit’. He was always very nice to me. But I’ve been t’inking, and…I t’ink we should watch it.”

Cherry sighed. She couldn’t blame Flynn’s impulsive nature. It was just how he was. “Maybe I could watch it tomorrow. I don’t have the energy right now.”

“‘M not gonna be here t’morrow, Cherry ma’am,” Flynn said softly.

Cherry stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Flynn wrung his hands. “I bough’ a ticket, a while ago, for a steamer trip ‘cross the sea. I…I always wanted to be in the film business and…in America, that’s where all the film business is. This was a good startin’ poin’, but now that Mr. Jackson’s gone I can’…stay here anymore. The boat leaves t’morrow, so this is my last chance to watch the film. And I figured to invite you alon’ to watch it.”

“Oh…” that was all Cherry could say. She’d never really been that close with Flynn, but James liked him. And after seeing the scene together, she felt connected, somehow. Knowing he was leaving put a whole new spin on the matter. “Alright.” She nodded decisively. “I’ll watch it with you. We should be able to use one of the projectors in the studio.”

They set up in one of the projector rooms alright, plugging the reel with the burned film into said projector and watching it roll out onto the blank white cloth that served as the big screen. A lot of the film was just normal filming stuff. The version of a film before they cut out all the unnecessary parts. The camera had been pointed at the table the whole time, so that’s all it showed. James would walk in and out of frame. The very first time he did it, Cherry felt an ache deep in her chest. Her partner—her friend. And he was gone. She saw herself pop in and out too. In between James doing his fun skit thing. She was mostly in charge of running the camera, but at a few points she climbed under the table and made a deal of being a disembodied hand giving James stuff. And then she left. She was on screen, her mouth moving as she explained the situation to James, which he waved off with a smile and a nod. Everything from there was new.

She watched him finish carving the pumpkin, making a big deal of showing off the finished product. Then he went to clean up, putting away the materials. Except he didn’t put away the knife. He stabbed the pumpkin again with a look of vague surprise on his face. He went to pull it out, but the knife almost twisted on its own, slicing open the palm of his left hand. He jumped back, staring at the wound in naked horror.

And then things started to break. The film must’ve been reaching the burned section, because things weren’t making any sense anymore. There were dark frames, with white spots that almost looked like writing. The frames that were fine were distorted at the edges, even…colored? That was impossible. And James. He was jumping all over the place, changing position rapidly, stabbing the pumpkin, missing, hitting his arm instead. And smiling. An unpleasant sort of smile, for people who laugh at pain. It wasn’t him.

And then the film burned away. Cherry and Flynn stared at each other in mute shock. After a while, Cherry stood up and said, “Th-that did nothing. It was—was just the film. It got all broken at the end, and we learned nothing useful.”

“Are you fucking kiddin’ me?!” Flynn stood up too. “Yer gonna just ignore the evidence of yer own eyes, then?”

“Evidence of what? It showed nothing. Nothing at all.” Cherry walked over to the projector and pulled the film reel off it.

“Oh, it showed a hell ofa lot!” Flynn made the cross symbol. “I t’ink Mr. Jackson was in over his head, wit’ t’ings that were best left alone.”

“Demons don’t exist, Flynn!” Cherry shrieked. “They—they don’t! They can’t! James can’t have—have been—it was just this burned reel!” She shook it like it had offended her. “Nothing more!”

Flynn shook his head. “Fine. If ya need t’ believe that, I won’ stop you.” He sighed. “’t was nice knowing you, Miss Cherry.” He stuck out his hand.

Cherry hesitated for a moment, then took it, shaking it firmly. “You as well, Flynn.”

They parted ways that night.

* * *

“…I never knew what to do with the reel, so I just kept it.” Ms. Honey shook her head. “I suppose it was sort of what Flynn made it out to be, a sort of way to remember him. But…” she gave it a thoughtful look. “It’s not doing me any more good. You may take it if you want, or you can leave it to put in the storage with the other clutter. Your choice, dear.”

Bobby made a soft _wow_ sound. “That was cool!” she said. “You never figured out what happened?”

Ms. Honey shook her head. “No, never for sure. Hmm, young man, are you alright? You’re looking rather pale.”

Chase was gripping the reel so hard, his knuckles were turning white. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said breathlessly. “Just…reconsidering letting my kid hear all that.”

“I didn’t hear all of it…” Bobby grumbled. “You didn’t let me hear what happened in the room, or what was on the movie.”

“Yes, and you’ll be happy. Maybe I’ll tell you one day, when you’re much older and won’t have nightmares about monsters.”

“This was a lame monster! It didn’t do anything!”

“Heh. If you say so.” Chase stood up, checking the time on his phone. “Oh, would you look at that. I gotta get you back to your mom. Thank you for your time, Ms. Honey.”

“Oh, my pleasure, dear,” Ms. Honey smiled. “I so rarely get company anymore.”

“What about the guy?” Bobby asked, jumping to her feet. “Flynn? Did you ever call him in America?”

“Oh, phones back then couldn’t travel across countries. He sent me letters for a while. But they became less and less frequent, and, quite frankly, more cynical, until the last letter I got in ‘38 was about how he was going to quit his job, and then I never got another one. I hope his story had a happy ending.”

“I’m sure it did. Maybe you could look him up, now that the Internet’s a thing.” Chase clutched the reel close to his chest, then looked down at Bobby. “Ready to go, Bobby?”

“Aw, do I have to? I wanna hear another story! A good one, like that!”

“Mmm…don’t want to make your mom mad. Maybe we can visit another time.” Chase looked back toward Ms. Honey. “Thanks for your time.”

“I have far too much of it anyway, Chase dear. I do hope you visit again.”

“I’m sure I will. Goodbye, Ms. Honey.”

“Goodbye, dears.”

* * *

A few days later, Ms. Honey was once again in her parlor. That was where she spent most of her time nowadays, she didn’t have much else to do, being over a hundred years old. It was a miracle she’d lasted this long. She always wondered when her time would finally come. Maybe not for a while, after all, her doctor told her she was in excellent shape for her age.

The doorbell rang. As always, Ms. Honey called out, “The door is unlocked, come in!” She heard the front door open, and then that nice man from a few days ago…Chase, that was his name, poked his head through the parlor door. “Why hello there, young man! I wasn’t expecting to see you again this soon, if at all.”

“Hi, Ms. Honey.” Chase looked nervous about something. He glanced over his shoulder and asked in a low voice, “You’re sure about this? Absolutely? Alright…” then he turned back around. “I have a friend who wanted to, uh, meet you. You’ll probably recognize him.”

“I will?” Ms. Honey was mildly surprised. “From where? The television?”

“Uh, in a manner of speaking. But, also, a bit more…personally.” Chase stepped inside the parlor, holding the door open so another man could duck inside. He looked a lot like Chase, but considerably better dressed, with a thick black mustache on his face. He was holding the burned film reel tight to his chest, like he was afraid it was going to escape. His eyes locked on Ms. Honey, and they widened. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, so he covered it with one hand.

Ms. Honey, for her part, gaped right back. This was impossible. Or a trick. There was no way…was there? “James?” she asked. “Jameson Jackson, is that you?”

Jameson nodded. His eyes were lined with tears.

“I…I must make sure. Jameson, do you remember the first thing you said to me when we first met?”

At that, Jameson laughed, but no sound came out except the whooshing of air. He tapped his throat with one hand. It was, actually, the very first gesture he’d made when they met.

Cherry realized she was crying. But she was smiling as well. “James, you little rapscallion, what have you been up to? Come in, come in, sit, and your friend can too. We have a lot to talk about. I…I missed you, old friend.”

JJ beamed. He made a few gestures in a language Cherry had forgotten, but the meaning was clear: _I missed you too._

Chase watched the two of them with a goofy grin on his face. They must have a lot of catching up to do.


End file.
